A hidden skill
by TheDragoness1992
Summary: Atlanta has a skill that nobody thought that she had...Random little onshot that I thought up...


Random little oneshot that I thought up in, ironacly, English class...hope you like!

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_The boy leaned in closer, gazing into the girls' light green gaze. As he wiped the glistening silver tear from her cheek, he leaned in closer.__ The girl could smell the faint scent of his cologne, and as the gap between their lips closed, the girl-_

"Miss Griffin," the English teacher called. Looking up from her writing book, Atlanta saw that the teacher was right in front of her desk. Before she could hide her book, the teacher made a grab for it, clenching it in her short, pudgy fingers.

"What is this?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Um, nothing Miss..." Atlanta answered nervously, noting that the whole class was looking at her, wondering what she had been writing.

"Well, the, if it's 'nothing', as you say, then you wouldn't mind me reading it to the whole class, now would you?"

Trying to keep her face straight, Atlanta shrugged. She had known that her secret would be known one day. A smug expression on her face, the teacher opened the book, flipping it to the first page.

"This is the story of a girl. This girl was strong, proud, and apparently beautiful. Her friends and the people who knew her though of her as a tough person, a don't-mess-with-me type. But on the inside, she was fragile, if not broken. The boy that had won her heart, if not stolen it, seemed unaware of her feelings towards him, not noticing the hints that she dropped every now and then. Of course, there had been occasions when she thought that he felt the same, like when she had been hypnotized by another. He had been there first, comforting her..." the teacher trailed off.

The whole class was now hanging on her every word, holding a collective breath, impatient for the rest.

Glancing at the clock, the teacher noticed that there were only about two minutes to the class.

"There will be no homework tonight..." she said, still starring at the clock."I want to see you after class, Miss Griffin."

When the bell rang, the students left in a mini stampede of flying papers and pens.

Gulping, Atlanta approached the teacher's desk, bracing herself for a detention or a report.

"You have a gift, Atlanta..." the teacher said, looking into her pupil's light green eyes.

"A-a what?" Atlanta answered back, dumbfounded.

"A gift. And a rare one at that. Now, let me guess, whenever you are over run with emotion, you write. Whether you are feeling happy, sad, anger, or in this case, longing, you let your emotions guide you, weaving a story from a simple thought..."

Atlanta's jaw was hanging down, and her voice seemed to stay stuck in her throat.

The teacher smiled.

"You don't have to answer, Miss Griffin." She said, leaning back in her chair. "Just make sure that it does not happen in my class again."

Sensing that as a dismissal, Atlanta gathered her books and made her way out of the classroom, pausing only to grab her notebook on the way out.

"So, what was that all about?" a familiar voice said from behind her. Startled, she dropped her books, causing papers to fly everywhere.

Crouching down on one knee, she stared picking up the various homework sheets, half-finished doodles, and random stories that she had begun. Lifting her head up, she saw that Archie was helping as well.

"So, what was that all about?" he asked again, handing the red-head the papers he had picked up.

"I was, err, drawing in class." She said, hoping that Archie wouldn't see through her lie. Sensing that something was wrong, but not wanting to prod any further, Archie stood up, towering over the still-crouched Atlanta.

"Uh, you coming, Lannie?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked questioningly. Smiling, she stood up, holding onto Archie's hand for support.

Noticing what she was doing, she quickly let go, a rosy tinge coloring her cheeks. Archie, who was also blushing, quickly gave Atlanta the rest of her homework and started walking, Atlanta following.

Leaning in the doorway of the classroom, the English teacher was watching the two young teenagers, a bemused expression on her features.

She had been a teacher for a great number of years, and she could tell when two students where in love. She could tell that these two teens had feelings for each other, and she could also tell that the subject and inspiration for Atlanta's writing was the boy walking next to her right now.


End file.
